I grew up with a father terrified by spiders. When he was very small his grandmother used to lock him in their root cellar (basement) because he was so hyper. As a result we were whipped if we thought it would be funny to throw a piece of lint on him (or anything really) and say "spider". After a couple of whippings here and there, we learned there were other ways to tease daddy that didn't hurt as bad. This is one small poem to honor my father.
A Bug’s poem
A little bug of the hive,
not a Whoville who
Called me on the phone one day
But all I said was “shoo”
She buzzed around my living room
And lit upon my shoulder
“Scram you little mighty Mite”
“Take off’ is what I told her.
The little bug, small and blue
Did not become too vexed
Instead she girded up her might
And hid her thoughts perplexed
And then she brought me tender sweets
Like honey fresh and new
And aphid-suckle fruity drinks
And sugar from honey dew.
She caressed my shoulders softly
And tickled me on my ears
She whispered sweet little words
And soothed my buggy fears
She is my little baby bug
A texting chatty dork
Who finds and soothes my woes away
At home or when I’m at work. (c)
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